The Hands We're Dealt
by Mischief's Angel
Summary: When Gambit rekindles ties with an old friend, he tries to keep his personal life separate from the X-Men. Not knowing much about his past, it's unlikely they would understand his odd connection with Isabelle Essex, the daughter of one of the largest threats the X-Men have ever faced - Mister Sinister. As always, Gambit's life is always complicated. Slightly AU. (Gambit/OC)
1. Chapter 1

The city seemed so quiet from this height. Through the heavy glass of the window, the sounds of the street were cut off, leaving only the view. The skyline of a thousand buildings was silhouetted against the bright color of the morning light, trying to claw its way over. To the eyes of anyone else, it was a peaceful and beautiful scene. Isabelle knew better.

She stood by the ceiling high glass pane as she tried to drown it out. It was part of her gift - which was far more accurately a curse - that she could feel it. The city. Its pain and anger. Everything. From this distance, she could push it away, at least to the back of her mind. There was nothing else to be done. It reminded her why she lived alone, so high above the streets. As she watched the light over the city grow brighter, a familiar static seemed to crawl over her skin. She focused on the warm energy, letting it ebb away her other thoughts. Soon, it became the only feeling left. The sensation grew more focused as a hand brushed up and down her arm gently. Another was used to brush her long hair over her shoulder, away from the back of her neck.

"Good morning," she smiled, feeling a slow, lazy kiss on her neck.

"Mornin," came the reply, spoken in a deep voice still heavy with sleep.

Both of his arms slipped around her waist, pulling her back closer. She easily allowed herself to melt back into the welcome attention.

"Somethin' on ya mind, darlin?" he asked between the kisses he placed on her neck and shoulder.

"Not anymore," she sighed, contently leaning her head back against his shoulder.

While it was true that her favorite company always had a heavy accent, the way it grew more defined when his voice was low and tired sent shivers down her spine.

"Don't buy that. There's always somethin," he chuckled, "Tell me."

"I want this," she answered, "I want to take this second and stretch it out forever. The one moment where everything can be just...perfect. Which is usually right about the time you tell me you have to go."

"Wish ah didn't," he sighed, "But you know me too well."

"You're forgetting something, aren't you?" Isabelle asked, turning around to wrap her arms around his neck.

"What?"

"I was promised breakfast."

She smiled up at him before pulling him into a kiss.

"Well…ah'm already late," he figured, "So, what's a bit more?"

Stepping back a bit, she noticed that he was already dressed to go, aside from a missing shirt. Looking around the room briefly, it occurred to her that she honestly didn't know where she'd caused him to lose it.

"Not that I'm complaining," she started, watching him walk into her kitchen, "But where's your shirt?"

"If ah knew that, ah'd have it?" he smirked at her over the counter.

"That one's on me," she laughed.

"Ya think?"

"I'll find everything else. You stand half naked in my kitchen and cook for me. _Everybody_ wins," she smirked back at him, before walking back down the hall.

It didn't take long before she walked back toward the kitchen with a dress shirt in hand.

"You'll never believe where I found-"

She cut herself off when she heard a cellphone vibrating harshly against the kitchen counter. It rang out, ignored, until she spoke up again.

"Uh, Remy," she asked, "You need to get that?"

With a huff, Remy grabbed the phone off the counter and looked at it.

"One of your other women wondering where you are?" Isabelle smirked, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Not unless her name's Logan," he huffed in reply, setting the phone back down unanswered.

"Friend?"

"You know ah don't have many of those."

"Someone from work then?" she asked further.

"Yeah."

"Which job?"

Rolling his eyes briefly, he leaned over the counter to distract her with another short kiss.

"No more questions, Belle."

She sat at the stool by the open countertop as he slid a plate of food across to her.

"Just one more," she persisted, "How in the world does anyone make an omelette this perfect? I've been trying for years and all I get is egg on my floor."

"Well, if ah told you that," he answered, "Ya wouldn't need me ta come over and make 'em for you. That's just no fun."

"Do you really have to go?" she pouted as she watched him sit across from her with his own food.

"Afraid so. But...I'll tell you what," he offered, "Let me take you out to dinner sometime and you're sure ta see me again."

She looked from him down at her plate and grew a bit quieter.

"I'm sorry. That's still gonna be a no."

"I do not understand you," he laughed, looking down at his own plate briefly before his attention turned back to her, "You're fine with me stayin' over, but you won't let me be a gentleman first?"

"You're asking me on a date, LeBeau."

"So?"

"So, if I go on a date with you, then we'd be dating," she explained, "Right now, I get to not care what you do or who you do it with. If we start dating, I start caring and I _cannot_ go down that rabbit hole right now."

"You think mah life's that complicated, huh?" he wondered.

"No, Remy. I think _you're_ that complicated," she chuckled, "But, if you wanna get dinner, then bring takeout next time you stop in."

"And…" he started to ask, face growing a bit more serious as he spoke, "What happens if ah drop by and you already got company?"

"Then just wait a few minutes for me to send him away," she answered without skipping a beat, "Because whoever it is won't be Remy LeBeau. For now, save your dinners for the other women I'm sure you have stashed around the city. I'll be just fine with breakfast."

* * *

A few hours went by before Remy's bike pulled up to the school. When he got to the garage, he cut the engine, propped the bike up, and dropped the helmet on the seat before running inside. He made it as far as the kitchen without being noticed and took it as a sign of a good morning. As soon as he set foot in the kitchen, it turned around. Scott was already standing in the kitchen, arms crossed, glaring at him through red lenses.

"Ah guess ah'm late," Remy shrugged, knowing his flippant attitude would only upset the other man more.

"Late?! You were supposed to help lead a training session four hours ago," Scott scoffed out bitterly, "Logan had to cover for you again, which you'd know if you bothered to show up!"

"Had other plans and they ran late," Remy offered as a vague explanation while he pulled a water bottle out of the fridge.

"You wanna tell the rest of us what those are?"

"When it becomes your business, ah'll let you know," he answered, "In the meantime, that stick is exceptionally high up yer ass today, so ah'd get that checked out if ah were you."

Scott didn't bother with a response. Instead, he grabbed the jar from the kitchen counter and slid it across the island to Remy, who simply laughed at the all too familiar "swear jar" that Storm had put in place.

"Outta ones."

"Well, with you and Logan bankrolling that thing, there should be enough to break a fifty," Scott huffed, walking out of the room.

Remy just half-heartedly smiled at the pitiful jar before pulling the first bill he could reach out of his pocket and sticking it in.

"Sorry ah'm late," he sighed, when he saw logan enter the room in the side of his vision.

"Don't mention it," Logan shrugged, clearly used to the occurrence, "You cover when I'm not here."

"What happens the day we both decide not to show?" Remy wondered.

"Then Scott's screwed," Logan answered simply.

When Gambit didn't make any kind of comment at Scott's expense, Logan turned to look at him and raise an eyebrow in question. With a small sniff, he knew just which question to ask.

"Same girl again?"

"Different one."

"Bullshit."

Remy slid the jar back across the island toward Logan. Logan scoffed at it.

"We're really still doing that?"

"Guess so," Remy shrugged, taking a drink from the bottle in his hand.

"Not done asking about the girl."

"Why's that matter? Ah keep that separate from the school, so it never bothered anyone before."

"It matters because you haven't so much as looked at the same woman twice since Rogue," Logan noted, "Now five dates with one girl? I'm almost worried about you."

"Funny," Remy faked a laugh flatly, "And we're not dating. She's expressed many times over that she's not interested in changin' that."

"So, what? You two just-"

"Pretty much."

"Must be really difficult to have a nice looking girl that only wants to sleep with you," Logan scoffed sarcastically.

"What makes you think she's all that nice to look at?"

"The five trips," he answered, "Look, everyone knows you've been an insufferable ass since you and Rogue broke it off. You started acting like yourself again and I'm just wondering if we're gonna get the chance to thank her for getting you to shut up."

"What? You think ah like her or somethin'?" Remy laughed under his breath.

"Do you?"

"Not always that simple," he shrugged.

"Just ask Storm," Logan suggested, "She's dying to say something about it, but doesn't think we know she's right around the corner."

Storm walked into the kitchen with her hands in the air in mock surrender.

"Fine, you caught me," she accepted, "Now, tell me about her."

"Not happening," Remy chuckled, standing from his position of leaning on the island, "Because ah don't like her like that."

"Break up with her," Storm shrugged, skillfully baiting a reaction from him.

"We're not together!" he emphasized again, irritated by the conversation.

"Then just stop seeing her and we'll stop asking questions. Easy," she continued.

When his face seemed to drop at the thought of it, a bright smile grew across Storm's face.

"Aha!" she beamed, "You _do_ like her!"

"That's it. Ah'm gone."

He walked out of the room before any more questions could be asked. Storm just turned to look at Logan.

"Don't look at me. _You_ chased him out," Logan defended.

"Why won't he talk about it?" she wondered.

"Something to do with him getting rejected."

Storm's smile faltered only for a moment.

"He's forgetting something, then."

"What?"

" _She's_ seen _him_ all those times too. No woman puts up with that man for that long if she doesn't see something there."


	2. Chapter 2

At first, shuffling cards was practice. After that it became a nervous habit or a way of coping with the extra energy. Now, it just happened. The action was as simple as breathing, to the point where he rarely even noticed it anymore. On a good weather day like this one, everyone else was outside. If someone wanted to be alone, all they had to do was stay in, which was why he sat back on a couch now, in one of the empty living rooms. He didn't bother to watch as cards in his left hand shuffled and spun, always falling back into place. It was the object in his other hand that really drew his gaze. The screen of the phone he held wasn't even on, but captured his full attention. With a sigh, he looked away from the blank screen, sticking the deck from his hand into one of the inside pockets of his jacket. From the other side of the coat, he pulled out a single card from a deck that had long since been lost or destroyed - all but two.

The ace of spades he flipped casually between his fingers, revealing the numbers written on the face everytime it came around. He paused to look at the digits and the name written neatly above them. "Belle" the name read clearly. A small smile grew on his face as he read it, before his attention turned back to the phone. After far too long a pause, he dialed the number. A second before pressing the button to call, he let out a deep sigh and, after cancelling the call, stuck the phone and the card back in his pocket.

It was an unfortunately short walk across the ground floor to the professor's office, not giving him nearly enough time to come up with what he wanted to say. His false confidence that told him he'd figure it out when he got there only went so far. It was almost a relief when the door wasn't open, signifying that there was already another meeting in progress. The most likely event, in his mind, was that he would plan out a great, airtight reason for being late so many times, only to walk in, accept the disappointment, and apologize as sincerely as he could. At some point, he knew, being late or not around moved from the realm of "just a bit of fun" to letting down the only few people whose opinion of him mattered. That aside...sometimes curiosity still taunted the cat. It didn't take long for him to get close enough to the door to hear the conversation inside.

"I'm sorry, Professor," Scott's voice sounded inside of the office, "But this has to stop. We're doing what we can, but we've all got enough on our plates without always covering for him. We _know_ he's not going to show up. What happens when it really matters?"

"I understand the problems it creates, Scott," Xavier's voice chimed in, "I can discuss it with him personally and come up with a solution. Until then-"

"With all due respect, sir," Scott cut in, "If you talk to him about it again, he'll do what he always does. He apologized for letting everyone down and is right back to it the next day! I don't understand why Storm and Logan still keep him on the team at all."

"He really seems to _want_ to be part of the team," a third voice joined in, namely Hank's voice, "But...Scott might have a point. If something ever goes wrong, there's a pretty high chance he won't even be around to help."

"Logan was just the same," Xavier reminded them, "In some cases, it takes time and patience. After all, both he and Logan have become important parts of this family."

"Family?" Scott scoffed, "People _care_ about family. Gambit's only ever out for himself. Everyone knows it. How do we know he's not just using us?"

The room fell silent for a tense minute, before Hank spoke again.

"Charles, I hate to say this, but...what if Scott's right? I mean, we've never really known much about him, and the things we do know aren't really comforting. Even you can't even see what he's really thinking. Can...can we really trust someone like that?"

"See?" Scott added on, "Even Hank's worried about it and he's almost never wrong. You asked me to lead this team and I can't do that if I can't even trust them."

"When it mattered," Charles started thoughtfully, "When it _really_ mattered, has he let the team down?"

There was another pause, clearly caused by Scott and Hank stopping to think about the question carefully.

"From what I've seen," Hank sighed, "He somehow always manages to pull through for us. Any mission where we really needed him or asked him to be there, he was there."

"What about you, Professor?" Scott finally asked, "Do you trust him?"

Silence. When Charles didn't respond, Remy knew he'd heard enough. He stepped away from the door, staring at it in disbelief. It was one thing for the others not to like him. He'd put up with that his whole life. But this had been the only time where he thought someone would be able to see him as something other than the selfish criminal the world seemed to love telling him that he was.

"Guess ah was right about the friends," he sighed to himself, turning to walk toward the stairs and anywhere that wasn't there, "Don't have those."

As he climbed the stairs toward the staff rooms, he pulled his phone out and redialed the number from the card. It rang a few times.

"Hey, you," Belle answered happily, "Did you forget something here?"

"Not callin' about that," he answered.

"What's wrong?" Belle asked more seriously, recognizing the tone in his voice as a familiar, bad sound.

"Ah'm sorry to do this," he sighed, "But ah need a favor from you, Belle. For ol' time's sake."

" _Anything."_

Gently knocking against the door was a simple task, but, this time, it was easily one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do since he came to the school. The door slowly opened before the nine-year-old brunette looked up at him from the crack between the door and the frame.

"Hey, petite," he smiled, "Can ah come in?"

The girl nodded and walked back across the room, leaving the door open behind her. She sat on the edge of the bed in the small single room, watching intently and waiting for him to talk more. Remy walked over and sat next to her.

"You trust me, Laura?" he wondered, always keeping a calm tone to his voice when he spoke to her.

At first, she gave a vague shrug in response, but, after a bit of thought, she nodded.

"Thanks."

He took a deep breath before hesitantly saying more.

"Listen...ah'm goin' away for a little while," he admitted, "Ah need you ta do a favor for me while ah'm gone, okay?"

Laura didn't say anything as she looked down at her hands and away from him. Watching the way she fidgeted with her hands, Remy could tell that she was trying not to get upset.

"Laura, ah need you to look after Logan for me," he continued, "He gets in over his head and he needs your help. Can you do that? For me?"

"M-hm," she mumbled out quietly.

"Good girl," he smiled, "Ah'll come back and see you soon as ah can, alright?"

He paused for a moment before leaving, just in case there was something she wanted to say. Laura wasn't much of a talker, but he was still hopeful that one day she'd be comfortable enough to talk more - if not to everyone, at least to he and Logan. He walked out, leaving her alone in the room once more.

Slinging a duffel bag over his shoulder, he made his way down the stairs toward the front door. He wasn't sure what to think when no one seemed to care that he was leaving, not there there was anyone in the entryway to notice anyway. As he opened door, he heard fast light footsteps charging down the stairs.

"No!" Laura screamed out angrily as she ran toward him.

With a bittersweet smile, Remy dropped his bag on the ground and knelt down, allowing Laura to run straight into him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck as she did. She wasn't an overly affectionate person - or even one that wanted to be anywhere near people - so, when the rare hugs happened, Remy would never turn her away. He wrapped an arm around her snugly.

"No…" she muttered out through her teeth quietly.

"Hey, you gotta stay here and take care o'your daddy, alright?" he reminded her, trying to reassure her, "Ah got some things ah gotta take care of...but ah'll come back. Jus' for you. Ah promise."

Laura released her iron grip, taking a step back and nodding again. Making sure to keep his movements slow and obvious, Remy leaned forward and placed a kiss on the top of the girl's head.

"Be good, okay?" he smiled, before walking out the door.

On the way to the garage, he allowed himself the mistake of looking back over his shoulder. Laura still stood in the open doorway, watching him go. He knew that his promise wasn't a lie though. That girl had been abandoned enough. He'd be damned if he didn't do everything in his power to keep his promises to her. She deserved that much. Hell, they both did. As for the rest of the school, he thought, he'd be shocked if they noticed that he was gone.

If the X-Men didn't want to trust him, that was up to them. That wouldn't change the facts. The facts were simple. He cared about the school and the kids there. He'd have done anything for them, but they didn't need him. It was time to focus on the other facts. The most important one being that Remy LeBeau always had unfinished business. Life was just more interesting that way.


	3. Chapter 3

This was always one of the quieter streets in New York, if any part of the city could ever be called quiet. The street light was cut off when he rounded a corner, disappearing into a dark alley where the unpracticed eye wouldn't be able to see. This was what people were calling a "dangerous" part of town now. If anyone ever asked why, they wouldn't get a clear answer. The truth wasn't something anyone wanted to say first. It went without saying that "dangerous" meant a high concentration of mutants. It could be argued that it was just easier this way. After all, if the neighborhood was mostly mutants, they wouldn't have to hide. From that perspective, mutant neighborhoods were good.

Gambit knew better.

This was how it always seemed to start. The mutants would all move into certain areas, chasing everyone else out. Then, that place was given a label and the reputation people whispered around. Next thing you know, the whole damn city is divided up, each group trying to wall the other off. Xavier saw the change happening. He was trying to tear the walls down before they had a chance to go up. No matter what side they were on, people always seemed to respect him for that.

 _Nice dream I guess,_ Gambit thought. _Just not how the world works._

The darkness of the alley was cut into by a small yet harsh purple light coming from the sign up ahead of him. As he walked toward the building, the pavement seemed to rattle slightly with the bass of the music coming from inside. A glance up at the sign made him scoff every time he saw it.

 _The Ace of Clubs. Cute._

Knocking loudly on the door seemed to do the trick, since it was quickly thrown open by the security for the evening - a large man with an almost reptilian appearance given his yellow slit-pupiled eyes and green tinted skin.

"Here to see Phantom," Gambit explained coldly, keeping the rim of his hat low to shadow his eyes from the minimal light.

"Who's looking?" the door guard growled out in a raspy voice.

"Gambit."

He let out a smirk as he looked up at the reptilian guard enough to make eye contact. Upon hearing the name and seeing the red and black eyes of the visitor, the doorman's slit eyes grew wider. He quickly nodded and stepped aside to allow the guest entrance.

"Must be new," Gambit scoffed lightly, walking further into the building.

The harsh oddly colored lighting of the sign was a theme that seemed to carry throughout the club, each of the different balconies sporting different neon colors. In the center of the tables, parallel bars on either side of the ground floor, and sectioned off VIP areas was what could probably have been called a dance floor. The sparsely occupied space was easy enough to maneuver through. His sight was set on the spiraling metal staircase toward the back of the club, which had lights beaming out from under each black step, making it stand out. Making it to the spiral, he cast a glance up around at the balconies. It took less than a few seconds to find the right one. As always, the center balcony on the top floor was set aside for guests of particular financial influence at the club. While Belle didn't run the club itself, it was her money that opened the doors and kept them that way. Lucky for Remy, she was already up there.

When he walked up to the balcony entrance, the two hired hands on either side were quick to move out of his way, not needing an explanation. There were two women on the balcony, overlooking the main floor below. The woman dressed in black and blue with blue streaks in her hair and the glowing pattern of a circuit design on her skin, who he recognized immediately as Fidget, one of the Belle's old friends. The other was just the woman he wanted to see. Walking up beside her with a casual ease, he leaned sideways on the railing and flashed a signature smirk.

"Buy you a drink, Cher?"

"You're early," she laughed, turning toward him with a bright smile.

"Well, I wanted to come see you. Been awhile since ah was down here," he explained, "Gotta say, ah missed it."

"There's always a spot open for you at one of the players tables downstairs," she reminded him, "And, since you always play for the house when you're around, it _really_ pays off to have you here."

"Here ah thought you just missed me, Belle" he sighed with a fake pout.

"I'm not happy you're here for the poker or the...other games," she admitted, "It's just not everyday you call in a favor. Is it bad?"

"No one's after me, if that's what you mean," he replied casually, "Bit more personal than that."

"We should talk upstairs," Isabelle suggested, "If there's a problem, I want to help."

"Hey," he smiled, running a hand up and down her arm, "It can wait. There's nothin' worth ruinin' a nice evenin' out with a beautiful woman. How about that drink?"

"A few drinks and then you tell me what's going on," Isabelle counter-offered.

"Deal."

There were a few advantages to owning one's own nightclub. Remy's favorite was that Isabelle's apartment was a few floors up above her club, making it a short trip from the Ace and a good place to disappear. This particular evening, he was glad for the short trip because, for the first time in a long time, he couldn't help but to just feel tired. He could all but feel the large couch at her place calling to him as he followed Belle down the hall.

As soon as the apartment door shut behind them, she cast a glance around the room. There was already a dufflebag and a jacket sitting on the far side of her couch.

"I'd say make yourself at home, but it looks like you already did," she smirked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Least ah called first," he shrugged, before his tone turned a bit more sincere, "And, thank you, Belle. Again. For...all of this."

"You know you're always welcome to hide out here. You feel like telling me what it's about this time?"

Dropping his hat on the side table and sitting down on the couch, he let out a deep sigh.

"Startin' ta think ah stayed in one place too long."

Isabelle walked over to sit next to him, tracing a thumb over his jaw as she turned his face to look at her.

"Hey," she smiled sweetly, "Tell me."

"Same mistake as always," he admitted, "Tried to be somethin' else. You know how it is when the world likes ta tell you what you can and can't be. Me: ah'm never gonna be anything more than what ah've always been."

"A devilishly charming hustler?"

"A no good thief."

Belle grew quiet for a moment, and it was obvious she was trying to process his answer without getting mad at whoever set him off this time.

"This is one of those situations where you'd rather drown the problem in bourbon than talk about what happened, isn't it?" she guessed.

"Do ya even have to ask?"

"On it," she nodded, standing to walk over to her kitchen bar, "Funny. You were just here yesterday morning, but that feels like weeks ago."

"Been a long couple of days for me too," he commented, walking up behind her and snaking an arm around her waist.

She easily slipped from his grasp, turning to hand him a drink. She moved to grab another glass and pour her own drink from a more elegant bottle.

"What kinda drinks?" he wondered.

"The wine is expensive and French and the bourbon is cheap and southern."

"My kinda woman," he smirked playfully.

"Here's to no one deciding what we are but us."

She raised her wine glass happily.

"Ah'll drink to that," he agreed, lightly tapping the glasses together.

* * *

Morning was probably one of the busiest times at Xavier's School for the gifted. It was the junction when all of the early morning training for the older students was finished and when all of the younger students woke for classes. The most evident example of this was in the main kitchen. There were traffic jams at every corner as half the students went for the fridge and the others to the cabinets. Today of all days, the chaos was the worst that some of the instructors had ever seen there. It particularly affected Scott and Jean, who had just been trying to reach the coffee pot, and Logan, who only wanted out of that room.

"This is chaos," Jean noted, carefully levitating the mugs and coffee carafe over to them, since they couldn't physically get to the counter.

"What the hell happened?" Logan called to them from where he was trapped by the crowd on the opposite side of the island.

"I don't know," Scott shrugged, "There's always been a schedule for breakfast. Now, it's a feeding frenzie and no one seems to want to clean up after themselves!"

He added a loud emphasis to the last point, but was ignored by the swarming students.

"How does the kitchen fall apart so fast?"

"Really?" Jean scoffed, "You don't know what this is about?"

When Scott gave her a black look, she rolled her eyes at him.

"Scott, the kitchen fell apart, because Gambit ran the kitchen," she explained, mild irritation obvious in her voice, "He did most of the cooking, all of the meal planning and schedules, and got the kids to clean everything up. It's not just the kitchen either. Half the rec room is dead. We're short a combat instructor. Storm's trying to handle all the shopping and food on her own, and I can't help because I had to pick up the extra classes."

"So, this is all because of Gambit?" Scott huffed, "Where the heck is he?!"

"Quit," Logan grumbled, finally making his way close enough to join the conversation, "Stuff disappeared when he did. Didn't exactly leave a note on the fridge."

"How's Laura?" Jean wondered, concerned with how the girl was handling it.

"Wait, wait, wait," Scott cut back in, "He just _quit?!_ What was he thinking?"

"Probably had something to do with you bein' a dick," Logan shrugged.

Jean choked on her coffee, trying to contain a harsh snicker at the comment.

"Logan's right, Scott," Jean added on after setting the coffee aside, "Sure, we can all be hard on each other, but you've had it out for Gambit since day one. I kinda miss him already."

"Alright, so let's say for a minute that he did leave because of me," Scott argued, "That doesn't change the fact that maybe this is good. I mean, we might have to work a little bit harder to figure out the kitchen stuff, but it can't be that hard."

"Tell you what, Scott," Jean suggested, "Since you're so happy he's gone, you won't mind taking care of the kitchen. Only about a few hundred dishes left to do. I've got a class to help with."

She started making her way toward the door, looking back over her shoulder briefly to enjoy the expression on Scott's face. Logan, with a smirk, smacked Scott on the arm and left as well, leaving Scott in the midst of the chaotic mess.

Logan walked outside toward the garage, lighting a cigar as he went along. With a huff, he looked out toward the road on the other side of the main gate.

"Where the hell are you, Cajun?"

* * *

The balcony off of Isabelle's apartment was a decent place to think, even with the cold morning air still clinging to it. The glowing embers from the end of the cigarette seemed to draw his attention, as Remy stared at the damned thing in his hand. Sure, they were supposedly death rolled up into a small package, but some old habits just didn't die on days like this. Isabelle wouldn't be happy with the choice, he already knew, but right now the smoke in his lungs seemed to be the only thing keeping him grounded. It was a surreal feeling to have nowhere to go. It wasn't about fear, since he knew he'd always get by. It was about an overwhelming sense of freedom that reminded him of just who he used to be. Still, why did freedom have to have such a bitter kick to it now? What changed?

"I thought we talked about that," Isabelle's voice cut through his thoughts.

He turned to look at her, where she was now standing next to him on the balcony, leaning forward on the railing.

"We did," he admitted, "Long time ago."

"Remember what I told you then?" she wondered.

"That you wouldn't date an ashtray?" he smirked, remembering her words when they'd argued about it in the past.

"Not quite," she corrected, "I meant the part about me worrying about you. That didn't change. I still do."

"Ah never asked you to do that," he sighed.

"You've never had to."

She gently put a hand on his arm and offered a small smile.

"And as always," he huffed, "You win, Belle."

He held the cigarette out over the balcony a bit, watching in flash red before the whole thing scattered into ash.

"Happy now?"

" _Happier,"_ she admitted, "Look, Remy, this isn't easy for me. I used to always know what you were thinking. Now, I don't have a clue what's going on in there. It would make my life a hell of a lot easier if you would tell me."

"Thinkin' bout you," he answered simply.

"Me? Why?"

"Ah ask m'self that question all the time. Only answer I can come up with is that ah'm thinkin' about you because ah always do."

Isabelle fell silent, unsure of what to say. She settled for waiting to see if he wanted to say more.

"What are we, Belle?" he asked after a pause.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what ah asked."

"We're friends."

His quiet chuckle seemed loud in the silence after she answered.

"Friends, huh?" he huffed, "Last time ah checked, friends don't do half the things we've done."

"Okay, fine," she accepted, "We're _good_ friends."

He turned toward her and stepped closer, leaning in with his lips a breath away from hers.

"And what if ah didn't wanna just be "good friends" anymore?"

"Then I'd miss you," she answered, turning away to walk back inside.

Remy casually turned his attention back to the view of the city, leaning against the glass behind him as he let the time pass. He smirked to himself at one last thought on the matter.

 _Ah do not understand this woman._


End file.
